So the very nice consultant says that that bit of bone, a not insubstantial part if you are the owner of it, has no chance of ever repairing and reattaching to where its supposed to be so it will be left to roam my arm and yours truly can return to normal life. The down side is that he could not say when it will stop hurting and I would be able to do things like ride my bike/motorbike or not shout when doing press ups. So, thats that then.
Games night at the scout hut so they could earn their warhammer badge. The terrain we had been making for a few weeks and which looked like loads on the dining room table looked less of a jungle spaced out on the games table and more like an oasis.
The scouts divided into two teams, one the pious space marines fighting for the emperor across the galaxies, the other the vicious xenomorphs, the Tyrannids an unstoppable biological life hating killing machine with one aim, domination.
The marines had to get to the space ship and escape the planet.
The Tyranids just had to rip them to bits.
The two factions soon began to mix it up and the scouts really got into the game.
Which was by any standard an exciting one as on the very last move of the game the Tyranid commander threw three 6's on 3 dice which meant a tyranid burrow opened up by the drop ship spewing out a horde of aliens as the marines were in touching distance of safety. Seeing the marines being taken down the crew of the drop ship took off hoping to circle round and pick up any survivors off table. Again there was a dice off, the last chance for the marines to snatch some victory from this overwhelming defeat. To the cheers of the Tyranid scouts the marines lost and the dropship crashed giving total victory to the aliens. It now seems some of the scouts are changing their Christmas lists and asking for warhammer models, get em while they are young!
Meanwhile back on solid ground, the pups are getting mighty big.
Monday, 9 December 2024
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